


How She Came To Love Him

by RedHummingbird



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon - TV, F/M, POV Multiple
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-11 23:45:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedHummingbird/pseuds/RedHummingbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regardless of the fact that Charlie Matheson makes it abundantly clear that she doesn't want any help from him, Sebastian Monroe can't help but save her life when he finds her in trouble. After that, whether she likes it or not, he's sticking around, and she ends up taking him home to Willoughby. Little does she realise exactly how things will change along the way.</p><p>Canon (with a couple "bonus" scenes) from 2x03 to 2x10 - and maybe a little divergence from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Leaving Him Behind

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at fanfic, so would appreciate any and all comments.
> 
> I do not own Revolution or any of its characters.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie gets into trouble, and has a surprising rescuer.

_**CHARLIE** _

I’m fuming. I’m keeping my pace steady and I’m staring straight ahead like I’m all nonchalance and indifference, but inside, I’m FUMING. _How dare he assume that we need him? We need to get rid of him. I finally find Monroe, and somehow I fail to kill him not once, not twice, but three times. Three times! I might as well just give up and go home. The bastard is all kinds of crazy and I don’t need any more crazy in my life – Rachel is enough crazy for anyone. Like I’d take him with me when I go back to my family. We can solve this Patriots thing ourselves. I’m not putting that kind of trust in a sociopathic ex-dictator._

I get off the main road and walk steadily through the trees for a long time, confident that I’m not making any tracks for him to follow. He’s going to want to stick to the main road anyway with that wagon, so I figure I’ll be fine. Well, fine in the respect that I’ll be safe from him; but I’m starting to get pretty damn hungry. Thankfully I think I can see some kind of settlement in the distance, surely I can get myself something to eat there. As I walk towards the settlement, keeping my eye on a couple of flickering lights I can see despite the steadily encroaching dusk, I think about the effect that General Monroe has already had on my life.

_Its his fault my mother disappeared from my life years ago. Its his fault that Miles wasn’t part of my life either. Its his fault that my father died, and his fault that my brother died. Its his fault that my life is something totally different from what I ever expected it to be. That I’ve fought alongside the Rebels, killed people, had to make tough decisions to save the people that I love. That I’ve changed, and that I can never go back to the life that I had. I guess I can go back to my family though. I miss Miles, and Grandpa, and Aaron; I even miss Rachel. Mom._

Oh,  Mom. Hopefully the guys have got her back on track, or at least derailed her crazy train. Right then I decide that I better give up on this vengeance mission and go home. Sounds like they’re going to need my help with these nutjob Patriots anyway.

I push my churning thoughts aside as I reach the few buildings. Its pretty quiet around here, not much going on. I wish I still had the knife that Mr. White Teeth took off me. Dammit. I push open the door to the bar; the only building that seems to have any sign of life. There’s a few men sitting around, a couple of them playing pool; they seem pretty disinterested in me. I spot a guy eating a bowl of stew at the counter and my stomach contracts hungrily. I nod to the bartender. “Can I get the same?” He nods in return and I hand over a couple diamonds. “Some bread to take away as well, and it’d be great if you could fill up my canteen.”

I take a seat at the bar, a couple down from the guy who’s just finishing up his stew. I’m watching the guys at the pool table while I’m waiting for my food. They don’t have any real skill. Pretty sure I could beat them with one hand tied behind my back. Might challenge them after supper just for a bit of amusement, maybe make my diamonds back. Its not long before the stew comes, and its good, if a little salty. I force myself to eat slowly and savour it; the Plains Nation is pretty spread out and I can’t guarantee I’ll get a decent hot meal again for a few days. The other guy gets up and leaves while I’m eating; the bartender idly polishes his tumblers. It’s a quiet place, a lonely place.

I can’t say I’m surprised then when the guy comes over and asks to buy me a drink. I get it. I’m blonde, young and fit… not the cleanest I’ve ever been, but then these guys don’t look like they bathe regularly themselves. This guy is one of the younger ones; sandy hair, pretty scruffy. He has a strange look in his eye though. Something about him is definitely setting off warning bells. So I let him down gently. He’s not having it though, and I realise that the men in the room are starting to pay attention. This… isn’t good. I need to get out of this situation ASAP. I grab my stuff and leg it to the door, only to discover that the door is locked. Oh Christ.. this really isn’t good at all.

I turn and quickly evaluate the threats in front of me. A couple of these guys will be easy pickings, a couple others might cause me some problems. _Screw it, I’d been in trickier situations than this. I’d been stuck in the Tower with enemies sporting crazy futuristic blaster guns for gods’ sake; a few rednecks in a bar should be easy after that_. I reach for a pool cue and take on the first guy. But my reflexes aren’t kicking in.. things are moving strangely slowly.. was my vision becoming blurred?

Oh _God, they’ve drugged me. Oh shit. OK don’t panic. Don’t panic. Think. What? What am I doing? KILLING THESE GUYS, Charlie. Get to it._ I shake my head a little to clear it and lunge for the next one, but some burly jackass grabs my arms and I’m done for. I know it. I can’t even think straight. Is that the door? Whats that blur? Has Miles come to save me? _I don’t understand_. I hear swords clashing, men dying, and there is a whirlwind of violence as each of my attackers fall. The final one is bent backwards over the pool table as Monroe stabs him ferociously slowly in the chest. And he looks over at me; as the blood drains from my assailant, he just looks at me. _Wait, Monroe? What is Monroe doing here? God I’m sleepy_. He walks over to me. _Why aren’t I afraid?_ He stands there, looking over me, and as my eyes flicker close, I gaze up at him. he seems almost omnipotent. He’s invicible. He’s serene. He’s saved me.  _Monroe._


	2. Just A Moment Of Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bass convinces Charlie to take him to Miles and Rachael, but it does take some doing.

_**BASS** _

I like these moments of peace. They seem few and far between these days, which is pretty crazy, considering we no longer have all the tools of distraction we used to have. Smartphones, TVs, laptops.. all gone. You’d think all I’d have is peace. But that hasn’t really been the case, not for years now. I’m too broken to have peace. Even after the Tower when I was free of the militia and the life I had built for myself – a life that I don’t think I ever really wanted – there’s been too many thoughts. Too many regrets, wishes that I could have done things differently. After a while I had to shut them up. New Vegas seemed like the ideal opportunity – between the fighting, the drinking and the whoring, I shouldn’t have had time to dwell on the past. Turns out you can’t run from it, because you carry it with you.

Somehow though, this moment is peaceful. Its raining, but we’re under shelter. _We_. I haven’t had cause to really use that word in a sentence much, not in a while. I gotta admit, it feels kinda nice to have that opportunity, particularly when the other person in the “we” is a Matheson. Admittedly, a Matheson who wants to murder me. But they’re all like that these days, so I’ll take what I can get. She’s sleeping quietly, as she has been since last night when I carried her out of that hellhole, comatose in my arms, so close to her life ending in a way I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Especially not on Miles’ niece. Not Charlotte. She’s just so.. young, and vibrant, and passionate, and idealistic. Well – she was. That girl I first saw for the first time in years in Philadelphia, volunteering to die to save the world. She was so innocent but so brazen at the same time. Was a curious combination.

This new Charlotte, this one that’s been trying to kill me, she’s darker. Colder. Harder. I look over at her, still sleeping. Is that my fault? _Probably_ , I think to myself. _Isn’t everything_?

As I’m tending to the beans, staring out into space, and wondering how everything got so screwed up, I notice her stirring. I wonder what she’ll say. What she’ll do. She intrigues me, does Charlotte. I remember her as a cheerful, sweet little toddler, from the times I’d stopped by the Mathesons’ with Miles. A kind little girl, taking care of her little brother. I wonder what she would have been doing now if the power hadn’t gone out. College surely. Maybe a sorority girl, chatty, shallow. _Maybe Miles and I would have gone over to visit. Any excuse to go check out college girls of course. We did love the ladies after all._ I can feel my eyes crinkle up a little as I imagine the cute sorority girls, tight sweaters, clean hair, fresh smell. Oh well. Those were the days alright. _Calm yourself down, Bass. Don’t want Charlotte thinking you’re getting excited over her._

Her eyes open and she looks at me. I figure she must be thirsty, so I toss her the canteen. “Drink.” She ignores me. Of course. And starts trying to get up. I look over at her. “Take it easy. You have to flush the drugs out of your system. Drink.” Finally she gets the message – definitely her mother’s daughter, that one, stubborn till the day she dies – and takes a long gulp from the canteen.

“How did you find me?” she asks. I’m amused, although I don’t show it. Where else was she going to go? We were both starving after being kept hostage by the bounty hunters and that was the only place for miles around. Evidently my saving her life hadn’t changed her opinion of me, as she didn’t follow this up with any kind of gratitude. I suddenly thought it likely she might try and kill me again. Like I needed more of that. So I discreetly kept my eye on my spare knife, which I’d left lying in the dirt between us.

“You’re not as hard to track as you think,” I replied, which put her on edge. I knew she wouldn’t like that. Too bad. She was starting to get me riled.

“How long was I out?” she asks blearily, with a clear look of suspicion on her face. “Full day,” I stated, then added in response to her suspicion, “Don’t worry, I was a complete gentleman the whole time.” I mean, come on. I know she thinks I’m a monster. And I know I’ve done some pretty awful things. But seriously, I’d just saved her from those animals. Like I’d go and touch her after that.

Although I didn’t mind carrying her out of her that place. Not for any dodgy reason – no. Just.. it was nice to hold someone. Jesus. I sound pitiful. Its just that all these women in New Vegas.. there was no gentleness to them. It was just business. Both the whores and the fans. All the girls draping themselves over Jimmy King, just because I could hold my own in a fight. I had no respect for any of them. I do for Charlotte. My mind flashes back again to that moment in Philadelphia. Yes, I respect her. And following me to kill me? The girl has balls. No respect for me of course. Sometimes that irked me. Other times.. I realised she had no reason to. Hell, most of the time I had no respect for myself.

She makes it clear she had no respect for me with her next question. “Why are you doing this?”

Couldn’t just be because I’m a decent guy, could it. OK, OK. I wasn’t often a decent guy. But I couldn’t have just left her there with those animals. I guess I could have left her to it after rescuing her, but I needed her, for Miles. “Show of faith,” I say softly. “I need you to take me to Miles. And your mom.” I want her to know that I could be a decent guy. “I know I can never make it up, but I’ve got to try.” My heart is clenching at this point, as I think of all the things I gotta make up. _Miles. My best buddy Miles… and he tries to kill me? How terrible a person must I be? Rachel, I keep her away from her family all those years.. why? Because I have no family? Oh Christ better not go there or I’ll really get emotional. All these years have gone by, but just the thought of my family…_

“Wow.” She distracts me with a single word. It is dripping with animosity. “Can you make your eyes water like that, just, at will?”

That really takes me aback. Here I am, trying to connect with her and this is what she comes back with? She must really hate me. Or maybe I misunderstand her. “What?”

“Well, this poor wounded Monroe thing. I mean.. it’s pathetic.” Her voice is still a little toneless, she’s still not totally recovered from the drugs, but this just makes the barb even sharper. I used to be the king of the world, people used to tremble when I walk into a room.. and she now she’s calling me pathetic? “You’re a sociopath. You say what you need to get what you want. Behind the mask, you’re cold, empty and a killer. That’s all.” I’m lost for words. I didn’t realise she had this much hatred for me. I guess it shouldn’t shock me. She’s her mother’s daughter. And her father and brother are gone. I know that feeling of pure anger and hatred. I’ve felt that exact same burning in chest when I looked at that drunk driver that killed my family. But I didn’t kill her family! I wasn’t there! How dare she? God I’m furious now. Lucky I’m still paying attention though because its now that she goes for the knife.

Doesn’t she know I’m Sebastian Monroe? She doesn’t stand a chance. I’ve got my boot on the knife and my hand gripping her arm before she even knows whats happening. That’s right Charlotte. I’m Sebastian Monroe. I lean in real close and hiss, “You’re right about one thing. I am good at killing. I’m very good. Even better when I’m with your uncle.” Can’t she get past her emotions and realise that we need to team up – that I’m not the bad guy anymore? That there are worse threats out there than ‘poor wounded Monroe’? “These U.S. guys, they’re going to be a problem. A big one.”

She’s staring at me now. She knows what I’m saying, that I’m making sense. Yet she is still fighting it. Those blue eyes are full of resentment. “What if I tell you to go to hell?”

I know I’ve won. I’m cool and calm. “What makes you think you got a choice?” Her stare remains for a second, and then she drops her eyes, sits back down and reaches for the pot of beans. I sit down again as well, and we remain there quietly for some time, just listening to the rain.

I’m going to see Miles again. I’m going to put this right.


	3. On the Road to Redemption?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie and Bass make their way back to Willoughby.

_**CHARLIE** _

_How did I get myself into this_ , I muse, leaning back against the wagon, wind in my hair, sun on my face. _OK, so it’s not all bad. I hadn’t been gang-raped in some seedy bar. So what if I’d been saved by Monroe, just so I’d take him back to my family. Maybe he would come in useful in this fight against the Patriots_. We both had agreed that he was very good at killing. While Aaron, Grandpa and my mom were all important to me, I’d be the first to admit that if we were going to take on another unwinnable fight, it might not hurt to have a talented killer on our side.

I sneak a quick look at him. Monroe, the battle-hardened General, my recent saviour, sitting on the wagon next to me, keeps the horses at a steady pace as we draw closer and closer to Willoughby. His blond curls are a mess, matted with dirt. The rest of him isn’t much cleaner. Yet somehow he has a presence about him. Maybe it’s those piercing blue eyes, or the determined set of his jaw.

I still hate him. I do. But I’m starting to realise that I kind of respect him. He had saved my life after all. And he’s a reasonable travel companion, not forcing conversation, just sitting there quietly driving the horses. He doesn’t feel like the General suddenly; maybe it’s just the lack of uniform, but I feel like he’s not the egotistical, arrogant maniac he was the first time I’d seen him in Philadelphia, threatening my mother. He's not the brazen, bronzed pro-fighter Jimmy King either. He has been quiet, unassuming, non-threatening. Over the last couple days we’d been travelling, its like he's decided to offer up yet another persona. _Maybe this is the real Sebastian Monroe?_ I think to myself. _Maybe not_. It's probably all just another show, all in aid of making me act the way he wants me to. _He’s just a cold manipulative bastard, Charlie. Don’t forget that._ But I’m starting to. Being around him feels... comfortable, and... safe. Safe? Seems weird I think that way. But actually, I think I do. He saved my life, and he doesn’t seem to want to hurt me. It seems like he really wants to find redemption. Maybe I should give him a chance?

“Let’s stop for food,” he says, breaking me out of my reverie. “Sure,” I agree. I’d managed to hunt and kill a couple of rabbits this morning that we’d cook up now. He had let me have my crossbow back once he decided I wasn’t going to try and kill him. I’m not sure when that had happened. I thought I’d given up on the idea when I walked away from him back on that road, but after he saved me, and I was lying there and he was trying to, what, get me to feel sorry for him? I saw that knife and just couldn’t help myself. I guess once I realised he was coming with me whether I liked it or not, I thought I might as well make the best of a bad situation. Use him to solve our Patriot problem. That’s if Miles and Rachel would let him help; I was pretty sure neither of them would be too happy to see him. And after travelling for a full day and night, and all that time he’s just been there, sitting quietly, keeping watch while I sleep. And sleeping while I watch.

OK, so I watched him sleep last night for a while. We holed up in some old barn. It was strange really, he looked a decade younger at least. Well, for a while he did, he slept peacefully, then I think he had some nightmares. He muttered something that sounded like ‘Shelley’ at one point, but I don’t know. He’s a light sleeper, that’s for sure. I stood up to go pee and he was already reaching for his weapon, settling when he realised what was happening. So even if I wanted to kill him, seems like I don’t have a decent opportunity. But like I said, the urge to kill him is gone now.

I’ve never really liked killing people anyway.

He draws the wagon to a stop on the side of the ride, just in a little copse of trees for some cover. He’s always careful, always thinking. He jumps down and makes as if to offer me a hand down. I roll my eyes at him and jump off no problem. I don’t need his assistance, not with that at least. I don’t need Monroe.

Saying that though.. I’m embarrassed to say it’s not so bad having him around. He’s already got the knife out and is skinning and gutting the rabbit. I automatically start gathering small branches and dry grasses for a fire, and I spot a blackberry bush behind one of the trees, manage to strip it pretty clean. We don’t talk, but it’s not awkward somehow, its just... me and Monroe. Hanging out. I shake my head to myself, at the absurdity of it all. It is definitely going to be interesting walking into town with him. Mom and Miles are gonna go crazy. I actually catch myself smiling at the thought.

* _crack_ *

There’s a noise. A branch breaking? My head snaps around and I see Monroe has heard it too. He drops the rabbit and holds the knife ready, looking about him, looking for the source. I lift my crossbow and move stealthily towards him, checking around us.

* _crack_ *

Another noise. He gestures to me to get over to the wagon. Good idea. I can use it as cover. I reach the side, crossbow at the ready, heart hammering in my chest, when suddenly we see a goat picking his way over to the blackberry bush through the undergrowth, and it starts munching on the leaves. I actually laugh out loud at the relieved grin on Monroe’s face. He smirks at me. “That’s lucky. Didn’t want to have to save your ass again. Twice in one week? You’d hate that.” Ugh. Patronising jerk! I wander back over to the firepit, and throw a berry at him, hoping to wipe the smirk off his face. He catches the berry in his mouth and grins at me, then sits down and gets back to work on the rabbit. Um. Wow. When he smiles, he seems almost human. And actually kind of good-looking.

 _Um, what the hell Charlie? Where did that come from? Shut up. He’s not good-looking, he’s a sociopathic killer_. I shake my head to clear my thoughts. Thank God we’re less than a full day from Willoughby. I really need to spend some time with anybody other than Sebastian Monroe.


	4. Scoping Out the Situation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bass and Charlie get their first look at the situation with the Patriots in Willoughby.

_**BASS** _

You’d think Texas mornings would be warmer. The sun is just rising though; I can see the first rays of light reflecting off the dewdrops on the grass outside. We’ve spent the night in a barn just outside the Willoughby area. Thought it best to go a little out of the way, nowhere obvious. I’m still a little spooked, to be honest; we got lucky yesterday and I’m still feeling like I need to be on my guard. Just as we were finishing up our meal yesterday we saw a patrol go by on the upcoming crossroads. Nothing much, only a couple of wagons and foot soldiers, and they didn’t see us – they were being pretty lazy I thought, I would have had my men whipped if they were that slack. But it seemed a little strange, put me on edge, and after that we were pretty careful, pulled in for the night as soon as we were in the vicinity of Willoughby.

I’ll say one thing about Charlotte; she’s not the worst travel companion I’ve had. No annoying chatter like I’ve come to expect out of younger girls. Not that I expected any lighthearted gossip. I know I’m not someone she wants to open up to. Its kinda frustrating really. I’m finding myself curious as to what’s going on in that head of hers, but she’s not really giving me any clues. At least she hasn’t tried to kill me again. She seems to have given up on that idea. Can’t say I’m displeased; nice to be able to sleep with both eyes closed, not that I’m much of a sleeper. Which is why I’m on watch now, Charlotte stretched out beside me. She’s in a bit of defensive position, arms curled up in front of her, head tucked down. I wonder what she’s dreaming about.

It’s still pretty early so I let her sleep for a little longer. I can make do on only a few hours, got used to it in the Marines and never really dropped the habit. I’m full of nervous energy anyway. Probably going to see Miles today. Considering the last time I saw him I thought he was going to kill me, I’m not in the most calm state of mind. Stomach’s churning. At least Rachel should be grateful. I saved Charlotte’s life like I said I was going to. Twice now actually, the Tower and the bar. So thats gotta be worth something.

I wonder if Miles and Rachel are together now. It’s been a long time since their affair, but this is the first time in, what, 15 years that they’ve been living in close proximity and working for the same side. And they’ve always had that bond.. that chemistry. I’ve never had that. I mean, I loved Shelley. I loved her and I wanted our baby so badly. But it was more of a comfortable thing. Miles.. he said once that it felt raw between him and Rachel. Desperate. I didn’t really understand then. Guess I still don’t understand now. But then I don’t really understand love any more. Hardly remember what it feels like to love; even less so to be loved. I’m not an idiot. I know I’m not loved by anyone. Except maybe Miles – maybe, maybe we can work things out. He’s my best buddy, that’s gotta count for something.

Charlotte’s stirring. “Hey,” I say automatically. Just want her to know I’m here. She’s not getting rid of me. Not yet at least. Her eyes blink slowly open and she gazes over at me. “Hi,” she says, and pulls herself up to a seated position. “Got any water?” I toss her my canteen.

I’ve decided we need to approach this carefully. Stealthily. If these Patriot freaks are as bad as I think they are, we are going to need to know what we’re getting ourselves into. I thought Charlotte would just want to stride into town, but she readily agrees to find a spot to scope the situation out, see what’s what.

We find ourselves on a roof, a short distance away from the centre of town. I steady my binoculars and take a look at what we can see. The first thing I see? Soldiers. A bunch of them. With some serious guns. And a flag.. The Stars and Stripes? Shit, it’s been a while since I’ve seen soldiers serving that flag. Since I was one of them. Trying to avoid a trip down memory lane, I drawl, “Well.. God bless America,” and pass the binoculars over to Charlotte. She seems even less enthused by the firepower than I am. Wait, is she getting up to go? “Hey!” I grab her arm, finding her skin to be surprisingly warm and soft. _Bass. Priorities. Focus_. “Where you going?” I demand.

She looks at me, trying to pull away, not even trying to hide her derision. “I’m going to find my mom. They may already have her.” Seriously, she’s looking at me like I’m stupid. I’m not used to this. Why won’t she just do what I damn well tell her to?

I grip onto her arm even more tightly. “Charlie,” I hiss, “They have the town. We gotta be smart, scope it out first.” Surely she can see this is the most sensible plan of action. We can’t just stroll into Main Street, arm in arm and singing the damn Star Spangled Banner.

She grimaces. She knows I’m right. Hell, I’m always right. I was trained for this kind of thing. I’m a goddamn Marine, for God’s sake. We need to know what’s happening here.

Suddenly she stiffens, looks out past the town, brings the binoculars back up. “Who the hell is that,” she asks, as I reach over for the binoculars. I take a look. A patrol on horseback? But they seem to be in a damn hurry. There’s some kind of cart, but I can’t see what’s on it, and then they disappear behind some buildings, and we don’t see them again.

We watch for a little while longer. Charlotte’s getting impatient though. Soon enough she comes up with the suggestion that she go in, find Miles, and bring him out to me. I think it over. Can’t see any obvious problems with that – no-one is going to be suspicious if they see her, like they might be with me. They know her. Rachel’s daughter, the prodigal daughter, coming home. Cause for celebration, not suspicion. We make plans to meet up by an old bridge we passed on our way towards town.

We slide off the roof, get our stuff together. I turn to her and see that innocent girl, that passionate, idealistic girl, just for a moment. And I don’t want her to get hurt. So I tell her to be careful. And she rolls her eyes at me. This girl! She’s riling me up. But kind of in a good way. Almost brings a smirk to my lips. I guess she’ll be fine. She seems to be coping better than me anyway. I’m a mess of nerves. I grab my bag, my canteen, and set off. Not long now.


	5. Hardly Any Resistance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie gets Miles and takes him to Monroe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this actually ended up being more of Miles/Bass chapter but I thought it was a useful development for Charlie to watch their interaction - give her some time to think about how she feels. Not that she knows the answer to that yet.

**_CHARLIE_ **

I make my way into town, coming in through the gates while everyone is distracted by the arrival of the Texas Rangers. I tuck myself into an alleyway and watch the verbal altercation between the Ranger and the Patriot guy, Truman. It’s the closest I’ve been to the Patriots since Randall Flynn, and it’s pretty unnerving. They’re all in uniforms, holding serious arms, and that American flag is everywhere. I’m really not liking the vibe, which is a shame, because Willoughby had that small town charm when I left and now it feels like a military outpost. 

Once it’s all gone down, I keep an eye out for Miles; I figure he’d be somewhere near the action. I spot him duck into one of the closed shops on the main street. I’m about to follow him in when I see the Ranger heading that way, so I hold off and wait for their meeting to finish up; figure Miles doesn’t need me there for this. When he comes out, I toss a tin can I’ve found on the ground out onto the pavement in front of him to get his attention – I’d rather lay low at the moment considering the ‘gift’ I’ve brought back with me. _Hi Willoughby, have a homicidal maniac, my treat._

He turns the corner and sees me. Uncle Miles. I can’t help but smile; he’s got that same exhausted, exasperated look as he always has, like the world is stupid and it’s a monumental effort to get everything happening the way he wants – which is of course the most sensible way. “Miles,” I say, and my smile widens. So good to see him. I’ve missed him. He’s blown away to see me there, choking out, “Charlie,” before he gives me a smile to match mine. “Hey.” He hugs me. So good to be back with family. I tighten my hold on him and smile into his shoulder; I can feel his joy at my return in the strength of his hug. 

I guess he won’t be smiling for long though – not once he’s seen the bounty notice, that’s for sure. 

I drag him into the alleyway to show him the bounty. “I’ll be damned,” he says, his eyes widening as his takes in the information, the large writing proclaiming “Rachel Matheson – Wanted Alive – By the U.S. Government.” He seems as perplexed as I am. I’m even more confused about the bounty than I was when I originally saw it, now that I see the Patriots are in town and have surely realised who my mom is. “Found it on a bounty hunter up in the Plains,” I explained. We discuss the bounty. He makes me laugh when he points out that I picked a hell of a time to come back. “What, you kidding?” I say. “That’s why I came back. To save your asses.” I grin cheekily at him. He likes that, rolling his eyes and smirking. 

I know I can be useful though. And hey – I’ve brought him a pretty useful weapon. Which I’m going to have to tell him about. I get serious when he suggests we go find Rachel. I know this has to happen with just Miles first. “Hold on. Come with me first. I wanna show you something.” He asks “why?” in his exasperated way but follows. This is not something I can say. It’s something I have to show.

....

We make our way to the old bridge over the river, Miles gently admonishing me about Mom, that I need to go easy on her. Sounds like she is doing better, so that’s good. I’ll deal with that in a minute though. “Yeah, I’ll try to play nice,” I say dismissively, trying to discourage further discussion. But I realise I need to preface this little meeting with a quick disclaimer.

“OK so now you need to promise me to not, you know, explode or.. go crazy,” I say, trying to keep the nervousness out of my voice. Monroe and I had discussed his involvement briefly before I’d left to find Miles. I realise that we are going to need him in this fight. We are going to need everyone we can get and I’ve already recognised after our short time together that he could be very useful indeed. He does seem to want to help. And he did save my life. I feel like this needs to go well. And I don’t think Miles is going to play along. “Wait.. huh?” He says in response to my request. I don’t say anything, because here is Monroe. 

“No!” Miles continues. “That’s never a good...” His voice trails off as he takes in the former dictator and his best friend standing silently before him. Monroe stands there, supposedly steady, but his right hand caresses his gun in a fidgety, nervous fashion, evidence of his anxiety. I feel a wave of concern for him but tamper it down. He’s a grown man; he can handle this. And why do I care anyway?

“Miles,” Monroe says softly, uneasily, his eyes never leaving Miles’ face. 

Miles just stares at him, stares, then swings his head around to look at me. His face is a strange mixture of puzzlement and revulsion. I sigh; this isn’t going to go well after all. Can’t say I’m surprised. I return his look, willing him to understand. He steps toward Monroe, his gaze switching between us, begins striding more quickly. God knows what conclusion he comes to. A darkness has settled over his features. I realise what he’s thinking when he demands, “What did you do to her?” to Monroe.

 _God – really? He thinks Monroe has what... seduced me? Got some kind of hold over me? Is he joking? I would never.. it would never.. I mean, he’s almost twice my age. And he’s General Monroe. Well, he was. Anyway I’ve never considered that as a possibility. Even if I do think he’s cute occasionally. Just when he smiles. That’s just hormones or something. Anyway, Miles is out of his mind._ I chase after him and position myself as if to come between them. Just in case.

“Whoa – nothing,” counters Monroe. 

“I know you, you son of a bitch. What did you do to her?” Miles asks again, with controlled rage. Monroe reiterates, “I didn’t touch her.” Calmly. Fixing Miles with that icy blue stare.  
I feel Miles needs convincing. “Hey. Hey – I wouldn’t let him touch me,” I say harshly, frowning in aversion to the very thought. Miles half looks at me, but it’s like I’m hardly there. There’s an almost palpable current of friction between these two. 

“I saved her life,” Monroe says softly. They stare at each other, Miles’s eyes flicking across Monroe’s face, searching for... what? Honesty? Any evidence of his old friend, still in there, hiding behind the sociopathic facade? Monroe stares right back, as if to try and convince him that he has no hidden agenda, that he is no longer the man that Miles has been trying to kill, that he is the man that Miles used to trust. 

Miles breaks the eye contact, and frowns, as if in disappointment. I realise why when he looks over at me and says, “You brought him here.” I nod, unsure what to say, hoping he understands. Not that I think I understand completely, to be honest. I know I hate Monroe, should hate Monroe. But I don’t want him to leave; I don’t want Miles to send him away.

“OK,” Miles says coldly. “ Charlie, lets go.”

“Miles –” 

He cuts me off. “Now.”

Monroe raises his voice, obviously annoyed. “Hey, I just walked halfway down the map to help you.”

“Sorry?” Miles turns around. There’s a bitterness to his voice. 

“That’s right,” Monroe says, back to that soft voice, the one that sends a strange shiver down my spine. “With these U.S. guys? By the looks of it, you’re going to need it,” nodding at Miles’ encased hand. He stands, resolute, but with a fraction of uncertainty in his eyes. 

“Oh,” Miles says sarcastically. “You’re here to help me.” He walks back slowly towards Monroe. “I don’t want your help, Bass.” It’s strange to hear Monroe’s nickname, to remember the depth of history between these two, that Monroe isn’t just a man I’ve been obsessed with trying to kill, and then a man I’ve been travelling with these past few days.

“I should kill you,” Miles continues. 

“That’s right.. but you’re never quite able to pull the trigger yourself. Right?” 

Miles doesn’t answer, but the resignation in his eyes speaks volumes. 

“Come on, Miles,” Monroe says, taking advantage of my uncle’s silence. “Look at yourself, you handi-capable schmuck. You can’t do this alone, you need me.”

I feel a smirk tugging at my lips. Monroe is certainly persuasive when he wants to be. I can see Miles’s internal struggle dissipating. I’m not surprised; he managed to convince me to bring him back here when I was ready to kill him. And he and Miles have so much history; he must know exactly what to say. 

I’m surprised then when Miles replies, “You want to help me?” He shakes his head. “Go away.” And he turns his back and starts walking away.

Monroe suddenly becomes emotional. “They nuked our city Miles!” he shouts. “They burned it.” 

I can hear the raw emotion in his voice. It really sounds like he means it. I have to remind myself that he’s just manipulative. But it really does seem like he’s wracked with guilt.

Miles stops walking, but stays turned away. Monroe continues softly, “They’re trying to pin it on me. I want payback. Best way to get it is you and me. Together. You know it.”

It seems to be working – Miles cocks his head, and then slowly turns, as if to hear Monroe out. 

“I’m asking for a truce.” 

The two men stare each other down; the silence speaks volumes. I’m frozen, wondering how this will be resolved. Suddenly Miles speaks. “OK,” he says. There’s a brokenness to his voice, but there’s quiet acceptance in his face. Monroe nods. Just to break the tension, I say, “right, then lets go find Mom,” and start walking in the direction of town. I don’t look back to see if they’re following me; I know they will be. The truce has been declared, and whether I like it or not it looks like I’m stuck with Monroe around for a while. I’m not sure whether I do like it or not, but I figure I don’t need to decide that yet. I’ve got bigger problems; like seeing my mom again. _Here we go._


	6. A Body of Proof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles, Bass and Charlie go looking for proof that the Patriots aren't who they say they are.

**_BASS_ **

The whole conversation with Miles goes quicker than I expect, but thinking about it, Miles isn’t exactly the world’s greatest conversationalist. And it seems like I’ve got through to him, at least for now. He rolls his eyes (obviously a Matheson trait) and jogs a bit to catch up with Charlie. I’m briefly distracted by her hair swinging loose and the slight sway of her hips as she walks. _Bass! Christ_! Ah, fuck it, what man wouldn’t be distracted at least briefly. And I’m a still a little bit shook up by the argument with Miles.

He stands with her briefly, hand on her arm, and then they both turn and walk back to me. He’s obviously pointed out the difficulty that the bounty presents. Rachel could be in serious danger, Charlie is realising, as she asks, “If they’re after my mom, why don’t we just grab her and go?”

“Where?” Miles shrugs his shoulders in response, looking ahead but not really seeing. “Plastic sons of bitches are everywhere. This is as a good a place as any to make a stand.”

“Miles, you’re talking about starting a war,” Charlie states incredulously, hands on hips.

“Damn straight. That’s smart.” I’m in agreement. As usual, Miles is right on the money. It’s why he was always the General of the militia. At least till he tried to kill me of course. I move towards them both in my enthusiasm for the plan. “We’ll get the Texans to fight the Patriots for us.” A memory surfaces. “You know, it’s kind of like that thing in Ann Arbor.”

Charlie asks, “What happened in Ann Arbor?” and looks at each of us for answers. But Miles doesn’t seem up for reliving the past. “Drop it,” he growls, staring daggers at me. Obviously he doesn’t want Charlie to know that the two of us took out a renegade town by planting evidence to suggest to the local bandits that the Ann Arbor townfolk had been stealing from their weed crop. It was pretty bloody. I can see why he’d want to spare her the details. “OK,” I relent. “Sorry.”

His face takes on that exasperated, worried look I know so well. If he didn’t worry so much, he’d look as young as I do. Of course, half the worrying he’s done in his life has probably been about me. A wave of guilt, familiar in its nature, grips my stomach momentarily. He expounds, “John Fry’s leaving first thing. I’m supposed to have proof for him by tonight.” He spreads his hands in frustration. I feel like I need to bolster morale here. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you some proof.” I make sure there is steady certainty in my voice, which belies the guilt that still weighs upon my stomach.

...

We set off in the direction of Willoughby, this time with Charlie walking a little behind us. Miles fills me in a bit on what’s been happening, with the Andover clan and the subsequent takeover of the town by the Patriots. It’s not good; it really sounds like these bastards know what they’re doing. Before long, Miles nods to the left, and says “Over here.” He leads us into an old railway siding, with a number of disused old train carriages. “This is where they were keeping all the Andover people after the raid.” He climbs into an open one and sighs. I look around. There’s nothing here. Charlie’s inspecting the railway line for some reason, god knows why.

“Well, it was filled with prisoners. Yesterday.” Miles sighs, looking around the carriage in vain. “You knew they were going to scrub the scene, what did you expect,” I ask rhetorically, dismissively. There was never going to be a smoking gun here.

He answers anyway. “I don’t know. A lead, a thread... anything but jacksquat.”

I know this Miles; it’s always been my job to be the optimistic one when he gets cynical and despondent, so I respond drily, “Buck up, pal. We’ll get Fry his proof.”

He gets snippy with me. Suggests I’m enjoying these shenanigans. Tell me we aren’t Butch and Sundance. Tells me I’m a dark pit that he spent too many years trying to crawl out of. I stay stoic. I know he’s angry, and hey, he’s got reason to be I get it. But doesn’t he feel even a little better, having me around? I’m more at home now, with him, with Charlie, than I’ve been in months. So I let him mouth off. Hell, he’s said worse. I’ve said worse.

Charlie suddenly walks up, announcing that she’s found some wagon treads. I’d forgotten her tracking skills. She keeps on proving herself more handy to have around than I expect. Miles gives me a last dark look and then sets off, suggests we find out where we lead. We don’t have anything else to go off, so why not.

...

We’ve been walking for quite a while now. It’s getting dark. It’s been a pretty silent afternoon and evening, but I’ve spent plenty of time with Miles with neither of us speaking, so I’m comfortable enough. I’m still surprised by Charlotte though, she seems fine with it too. Just occasional murmurs about the trail, intelligent observations generally. Unfortunately this is getting us precisely nowhere, and I break the comfortable silence to state that fact. Can’t say I’m surprised when I don’t get an answer from either of them. We continue our steady pace down the path when I hear a faint but distinct noise. Not a natural noise. A man-made noise. A footstep.

I freeze and swing my gun up but I’m too slow; there is a sudden abundance of gunshots. Miles and Charlie sprint out of sight while I cover them, blasting a single round; then I dash in behind them and we take up a defensive position behind a pile of rubble. I can’t help but joke, “Well I guess it is Butch and Sundance,” as I glance over to make sure Charlie is properly hidden. “Shut up,” is Miles’s wry response. I’m not fazed. I’ve always been like this; when the action comes calling, my blood surges, my senses focus, and I’m on the ball. I’m not scared. I’m a goddamn Marine. This is where I’m supposed to be; who I’m supposed to be. I reload the shotgun.

“How many you think? Seven? Eight?” Miles queries. My eyes dart back and forth, watching for human movement, for muzzle flashes. “Yeah,” I respond, seems about right. I keep watching, analysing their positions.

“What do we do?” Charlie asks. There’s a hint of nervousness in her voice but at the same time there’s a readiness to do what she needs to, to survive. I feel like she’s someone I can trust to have my back. Which is crazy, since she was trying to kill me a week ago. But I need to trust her now. I have a plan. “You remember Southbend?” I ask Miles. He looks blank for a minute, and then his brow furrows in recognition. “Yeah. That’ll work.”

“What? You guys are just saying cities,” Charlotte complains. I don’t have time to explain. We just need to do something. “Sure you’re up for this?” I ask Miles. Naturally he throws back some snarky response in return, so he’s good.

I toss the shotgun at Charlie, already plotting my next move. “Cover us,” I command as I start edging my way round the side of the junkpile, Miles mimicking my actions on the other side. “Wait!” she says furiously, but we’re already making our move. As I’m running I can hear her fling herself around, pump the shotgun and fire. I knew she could handle it.

In the Southbend battle, we were massively outnumbered and outgunned, but it was a messy battlefield and so the opposition was spread out. We kept attention to the front with strategic cover fire, while Miles and I plus a few select others snuck around the back and took out the first few with just knives and swords, stole their weapons and then zigzagged our way through their lines, covering each other. Miles draws attention, I shoot the guy who follows. That draws attention to me, so Miles takes my attacker out. It’s simple but effective. I go to shoot one guy with my new machine gun but Charlie gets him first. That was a nice shot; I’m impressed. We make short work of the opposition, and the gunfire ceases. My heart’s pounding with exhilaration. It’s been a while since I’ve got to do something like this. Something about this kind of action just fires me up more than any fight in a whorehouse can ever do.

I come round the corner to find Miles has just decked some guy. What are you doing?” I ask, assuming he hasn’t gone all pacifist on me. I assume right. Turns this guy is the proof that Miles needs for Fry. “Alright!” I say cheerfully. “Guess it all worked out,” as I help him hoist the guy up. Miles gives me that grumpy look of his. I’ve missed that, god knows why; but as we pick up and start dragging the guy, I’m feeling more myself than I have in I don’t even know how long.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can barely follow action sequences while watching them on TV so writing it was a little tricky, I kept it pretty basic. Hopefully it still works. Next chapter should get a little bit more Charloe than Miloe I think.


	7. Spanner in the Works

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles, Bass and Charlie drag their prisoner to the meeting with the Texas Rangers, but it doesn't go as planned.

**_CHARLIE_ **

The battle took us by surprise but it's sure come in handy. The Patriot soldier Miles recognised from his imprisonment by the Andover clan seems like as good proof as any for the Rangers tonight. The meeting place Miles arranged isn't far, but Miles and Monroe can't drag the guy for long. We've got a little time till the meeting with Fry, so the guys dump him down and Monroe and I are watching him while Miles goes forward to scout, makes sure its all clear and we're all good to go ahead. I'm slumped against a tree stump, watching the guy's chest rise and fall. His breathing is becoming shallower, so he's probably going to wake up soon. Thank God, because he's damn heavy to drag.

I look up and see Monroe pacing back and forth. He seems anxious about something, which is weird since he's seemed almost cheery since Miles accepted his help after their conversation at the bridge. He's almost been a different guy, really. He's seemed younger. Lighter. Even cracked a couple jokes. Miles has been pretty edgy, like he's holding himself back. Whether its from killing Monroe or joking back, I'm not sure. "What's up," I ask, not expecting him to answer.

He turns to me, like he's just realised I'm here. "Just.. its this plan. I'm not sure its going to work," he replied. "I think Miles is being pretty hopeful that this guy will talk and the Texans will buy it." I realise with a start that he's actually looking for my opinion, that he actually wants to know what I think. I'm used to people deciding things and me just having to go along with it. This is.. kinda nice actually. Kinda weird too, that an ex-military dictator wants to know what I think about something. 

I look at the guy on the ground, and frown. "I see what you're saying," I nod. I mean, he's got a point. The guy might say jack squat. Fry's not going to stick around for ever. "I guess Miles figures he has ways of making him talk." 

He nods, in that sideways way he does. "Yeah, I guess." He looks down at the Patriot, and his eyes narrow a little. "I've got a couple ideas if he doesn't, anyway." 

I don't think I want to know what he's thinking. He has that cold, dark look - the General Monroe look. Calculating. Determined. Then suddenly his face changes and he shoots one of those dazzling grins at me. "Yeah, it'll all work out in the end. And at least we had some fun doing it." 

I raise an eyebrow, but I know what he means. The adrenaline surging through my body when I took hold of that shotgun and fired at those bastards; the victorious feeling when I actually hit one of them and took him down; that felt good. I'm still full of energy from it. I want to do something. Anything. I bounce to my feet and kick the Patriot asshole in the side. "Oi," I say. The guy groans, blinks his eyes a couple times, and looks at me, surly as all hell. "Get up." I glance over to Monroe. "Keep moving?" I ask. He does that sideways nod thing again and levels the gun at the guy's face. "Come on, sleepyhead." 

We get him on his feet and start marching him to the meeting place Miles arranged, the dam just up river. Miles joins us before long and the three of us march our unwilling prisoner the rest of the way.

...

Once we get inside, Miles leaves Monroe to tie up the soldier while he does a last check of the place. Monroe's pretty thorough, checking his knots and making sure the gag is tied right. The guy is venomously staring at me the whole time, but I'm not fazed, he's tied up, what's he gonna do. Once he's done, Monroe does a final walk around the prisoner, checking he's definitely contained, and then his focus switches to me. I can read him like a book. He wants to go and check in with Miles but for some reason doesn't want to leave me alone with the guy. He's radiating protectiveness. It's strange. Like he's asking if I'm going to be okay. I give him an almost imperceptible nod in return, which seems to satisfy him and he turns and leaves.

...

I'm standing there, just watching and waiting, when suddenly I hear raised voices. A woman's voice. And then the unmistakeable noise of a gun being cocked. Wait, is that.. Mom? What the hell? The guy's just sitting there, I figure he'll be fine, so I stride across to the doorway to find out what's happening. Yeah, its definitely my mom. I hear Miles, frustrated, reasoning with her, "Fry'll be here any minute. I'm supposed to be alone."

"Why are you protecting him?" she demands.

Before I even know what I'm doing, I'm stepping calmly into the room and stating, "Because he's helping us." I see Monroe throw me an anxious yet appreciative glance. Mom stares at me from behind the vicious black machine gun she is pointing at my uncle and Monroe, and weakly says, "Charlie," like she can't quite believe its me. But doesn't put the gun down. Time to really shock her. "And because I brought him." The look she gives me this time really is unbelieving. Miles sighs exasperatedly, saying, "Perfect. Thank you Charlie, that's very helpful," in his usual patronising tone. I don't care; Rachel shooting Monroe is not going to help anything right now. 

"You brought him here," she repeats quietly, eyes still focused with a quiet rage on Monroe, who is cleverly staying quiet; I guess he realises he's not going to be able to reason with her. "And why would you do that?"

You know, I'm still not really sure on the why. I just kind of gave in to him that night, let him talk me into bringing him back to Willoughby, and resigned myself to the fact that he's been beside me ever since. Weirdly though, I don't regret it. I don't know how to respond, then, so I just say nothing. It seems like my sudden presence has calmed her, or at least distracted her enough that Miles makes his move and quickly disarms her. "You can shoot each other later,"he snarks, taking the gun from her. "Right now, just get out of sight." He throws the gun to Monroe, and directs him to stand out of sight, us to go upstairs. Mom doesn't move. I hear the desperation in his voice when he pleads, "I'm begging you, just get upstairs, please." She stays frozen, angry, just for a second, and then reluctantly makes her way to the stairs and I follow her up. Once at the top of the stairs, we eye each other warily. I'm unsure where to go from here. Thankfully Aaron's arrival from below gives me a chance to avoid the confrontation for a few more precious seconds.

I am sincerely pleased to see Aaron. I've known him since I was a little kid, and he's always been a source of comfort to me. I can't keep the wry grin off my face as I step into a big bearhug with him. "I am so happy to see you," he murmurs as he hugs me tightly. "I mean, in person." O...kay? That's more than a bit strange. Obviously something's been going on here that I'm going to have to find out about. He must have realised how odd he sounds, as he releases me and clarifies, "I'm just.. glad you're here!" I laugh at him in my confusion. Then grit my teeth a little, as I can't avoid her any longer. I turn and move a little closer to my mother, still with a smile on my face but this one is a little more forced. I can see just by looking at her that the months have been tough. Ongoing exhaustion and stress has painted a few more tiny lines around her eyes, and there is a shadow in her expression that even my reappearance can't banish. I find myself struggling with what to say. Should I explain why i needed to leave? Why I've been away so long? Why I returned with Monroe? I don't have any answers to these questions, none that I can put into words, so I settle for the safest option, and simply ask her how she's been.

"I've been better, Charlie," she replies in that irritatingly chastising and condescending tone. It instantly gets my back up. Even Aaron hears the judgment in her voice, and says "Rachel!" in a clear rebuke. "Look," I retort. "I understand, okay. When I first saw Monroe, I tried to kill him too-."

"But you didn't," she interjects. "Because.. he wants to help." She says this mockingly, as if I am a child, and have been simply been cajoled by the charm of General Monroe. "Cos he's a saint -"

This time I don't let her finish. "Would you let me explain?" I bite out.

But she keeps talking as if I hadn't spoken. "And you believed him? Are you really that stupid." Her voice is laced with bitterness and anger. I take a moment to collect myself before I answer. Her stubborn refusal to even consider the possibility that I had thought this through and taken the best course of action that I saw fit? It really riles me up. Rachel is always convinced that she is the smartest person in the room, has all the answers, even when she isn't aware of half the questions. I'm not stupid. Or a child. I've seen enough things in the past year to make me realise that sometimes the easiest answer wasn't always the best. And sometimes what we want isn't going to help us in the long run. Why can't she see the same thing, instead just assuming that I've made a stupid decision, that I am stupid?

"For coming back here, yeah, I think I am," I reply coolly.

The argument is silenced by Aaron furiously shushing us. Fry has obviously arrived. I step away to look out at the cool dark night sky and to regain my composure.

....

The night is suddenly shattered by the loud report of a shotgun. Aaron, Mom and I all glance up and then suddenly we're running for the stairs. I've got my gun at the ready. I am terrified. What if Miles is dead? Or Monroe? Now that would be ironic. I realise we need to move stealthily, and so I wave at the others to take more care, to be quieter. We edge down the stairs, all my senses attuned to any hint of danger. Then I hear Miles furiously shouting, "What is wrong with you? What is that?" and Monroe's quiet reassurances, and figure its okay - but what's happened? 

I sprint to the room where the prisoner was being kept, and hear Monroe's soft, confident voice saying, "Texas is gonna go nuts," and then I turn to the corner. The two men are facing off, Miles red-faced with fury. The prisoner is slumped in his chair, blood around his mouth, obviously dead. And Fry is sprawled across the floor, as dead as the Patriot, thanks to a ragged hole in his back. I realise quickly that Monroe has shot Fry, which is what has sent Miles into a rage. But why? Like he said, Texas will go nuts.

"That is what you wanted, isn't it?" Monroe says, obviously aggravated that Miles isn't about to congratulate him on his brilliant plan. And actually, I realise with a sudden and begrudging respect that it is kind of brilliant. The Texans aren't going to stand for the coldblooded murder of their Secretary of Defense. That's as good a reason for a war as any. Monroe paces over to the body, looks down at it, and then back at us. There's desperation in his eyes, as he looks at Miles, and then Rachel, and then finally at me; looks for some kind of appreciation, I guess. I find I can't keep the respect off my face when his eyes meet mine. And just for the briefest moment, I see a flicker of redemption in his eyes.

 


	8. Pride Before a Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bass thinks he's got it all under control, but things go horribly awry..

_**BASS** _

Once Miles has come around to my plan - a totally genius one, if I do say so myself - we gotta act quick. There's no time to waste. The other Texans aren't gonna wait for Fry for long; they're gonna come looking.

We send the other three back to Willoughby and get to work. It doesn't take us that long, but its finicky. We flush the floor, cleaning up the real evidence of Fry's death, and then fabricate some for the Patriots to follow. Blood spatter here, spent casings we've taken from the Patriot guns there. We've got it all sorted. This isn't our first rodeo. Last thing we gotta do is dump his body in the river below the dam. Concrete block tied to the corpse and there he goes; off to sleep with the fishes. 

As Fry sinks, Miles looks at me with resignation, but I'm smirking. I know this is gonna work and we're going to screw these Patriot bastards to the wall; they've got no shot against the Texans, mean bastards that they are. I mean, the night could've gone better; I definitely could have done without Rachel turning up and nearly using me for target practice. Staypuft isn't exactly high on my Christmas card list either. But that all got sorted as well, I guess thanks to Charlotte. I have to say, I didn't think that of all these new buddies I'm spending time with, that Miles' idealistic niece would be the one I'd be most comfortable around. I guess opposites attract. Not that I'm attracted to her. Shit. Where the hell are these Texans anyway?

As I predicted, they don't take long to follow Fry's tracks and find the clues we've planted. It takes them no time at all to drag up his body. And once they've examined it, its straight back on the horses and off to see the President, to start our war for us. We're watching from a safe enough spot, and I can't help myself; as we watch those horses disappear into the distance, I remark "Told you it'd work. You wanted a war. You got one." Miles just stares at me.. I guess he's not convinced. Too bad. This is gonna be great.

...

Miles deposits me in some old sheds a little way from Willoughby, and tells me to just sit tight. Like I can do that. Or want to do that. Sit in some dark old sheds, just me and my thoughts? I don't think so. So I go out, theoretically to hunt, figuring there's gotta be something around I can find. I'm right; there's a Patriot soldier on patrol by himself, barely paying attention to his surroundings, like he's just out for a Sunday morning stroll. Idiot. I'd be an even bigger idiot not to grab him and see what we can find out. All's fair, right?

The guy gives me some solid information. After a while, at least. He takes some working over, but I get some good stuff. Sadly the working over ends up being a bit much for him, so its off to a shallow grave he goes. Naturally, its when I'm dragging his corpse out to the grave that Miles returns. He starts mouthing off with the same crap, like he's changed and he's all goody two shoes now, but I know him. As expected, he changes his tune when he sees the info I've got. I guess we're getting back to normal, but it'd be great if he'd play along a little more.

He disappears again not long after. I guess to share the info I've managed to glean. I feel like I'm making myself useful. And once the Texans get here to fight the Patriots.. damn. Its gonna be just like old times.

...

I guess its my own stupid fault that I get caught. I'm lost in a reverie, just reminiscing about the old days, when a grenade smashes through the window. No idea how I didn't hear their advance, but once I stumble outside and they've got their guns trained on me, what does it matter. Sure, I throw a headbutt, a punch, mostly cos its expected. As soon as I see those guys and their guns, I know I'm not fighting my way out of this.

Its even worse when the douchebag with the U.S. flag patch arrests me.. and calls me General Monroe.

Dammit. This is not how I expected things to go.

...

They lock me up in a cage, a damn cage, and put me on a cart. Parade me into town like I'm some kind of circus animal. If I wasn't so concerned with how much shit I was in, I think I'd be in hysterics. This is insane. Seriously, its like its the damn Macy's parade. There's a couple of armed escort carts, and one with a whole bunch of people with notebooks and flash bulb cameras. Guess I really am somebody. My arrest's making it into the papers. Jesus.. this is not good.

As we pull into the town, bell ringing to announce my arrival for god's sake, the townspeople are gathering to see what all the fuss is about. I catch sight of Miles and Rachel. Furrowed brows all around. They've got no idea what's going on. I'm furious. What have they got me into?

Then I see Charlie - those bright blue eyes, they're just staring holes into me - and my anger dissipates. Who am I kidding. I know what I've done. I know exactly how much blood is on my hands. I can't even look at her. 

We pull up to the main town hall, and that jackass the Texan president starts yabbering on, I can't really focus. I hear the words "new friends from the new United States government" and I know that my whole plan is in ruins. I was so confident. And yet so wrong. From my slumped position inside my cage, I can see out into the crowd, which is generally cheering and baying for my blood. Charlotte is there. And she isn't clapping. She kinda looks sad. I figure I'm losing it. Why would Charlotte Matheson be sad for me? She should be leading the damn charge with a burning torch and pitchfork. I close my eyes and wait for the inevitable. Lets face it.. I deserve whatever's coming.

...

They put me in the vault at the bank. Pretty smart really - probably the most secure place left in a small town like this. Not exactly any local supermax or death row camps round here. And there I am.. just me and my thoughts. The thoughts I was trying to get away from when I happened across that Patriot. The thoughts I tried to fight my way away from in New Vegas. Those thoughts that have been plaguing me for quite some time. As usual, my mind turns to Shelly. 

_It's a warm evening, a few years after the Blackout. Things are pretty rough as usual; makeshift campsite, low food supply. I don't care. I have a beautiful woman who is carrying my baby. Maybe a son. I'm good with a daughter though. Hell, I'm just so damn happy to have a family again. I know I have Miles; I'll always have Miles. But this is different. This is blood. Speaking of Miles, he's trying to talk me into hitting some neighbouring camp, steal food, animals, supplies. I can't be bothered with all that. This isn't the Marines any more. I'm gonna be a dad._

I'm interrupted from my thoughts by what seems like a platoon of soldiers, who have turned up to escort me to the jumped up kangaroo court that's going to decide my fate. I already know what the outcome is going to be. They take me through to the courtroom, stand me at the defendants table; they're really going through the motions. But there's no surprise on my face when the Texan judge decrees that I will die by lethal injection at midnight. Like I said.. I know my crimes.

I barely register the Patriots returning me to my cell. I know what's coming next in the cruel play-by-play of my worst memories. I've relived this one many times.

_Shelly is whimpering and gasping as the contractions take hold, but it all seems to be going well. She's joking with me at least, as I dampen her forehead; I wish I could do more for her. The nurse wants to do a couple more checks, so she sends me out of the tent for a minute._

_I wish I never left her._

_I hear a scream. A bloodcurdling scream. And I know something is horribly wrong._

_Everyone does what they can; but they can't save her. They can't save her or the baby. They're gone._

_Yet again, I'm alone._

_..._

Miles was there, of course. He was always there in the real dark times. He's always been my brother. I guess that's why it kills me to find out that even after all that; even after he saw what losing Shelly..  _losing the baby_... did to me, he still hid my son from me. He's meant to have been there for me; and yet he betrayed me; and it breaks my heart.

...

Its the end now. They come for me; handcuff me and cuff my feet as well. They take me out, parade me one last time. The circus animal, performing his very last trick. Its all a blur. And then I see her. Charlie. She looks sad again. Sad for me. I want to say something; comfort her. What can I say? I have no comfort. I have nothing for anyone. I reach for something, something to tell her. 

"Take care of your uncle, kid."

Then the doors open, and Rachel is there, with a syringe. And there's people, people everywhere, but I don't see them, not really. I see the bright blue, the innocent blue of Charlie's eyes, and wish I could turn back time to when she was that giggly little toddler with the princess tiara, and I was just a kid, and there was none of this.. this  _guilt,_ this  _shame._ At least its the end now. I'm frightened. What will it feel like? Will there be unbearable pain? Or will I just cease to exist? 

There's an old man, waiting for me, undisguised hatred in his eyes. What must I have done to him?

And there's Rachel. I don't want to look at her, but I do. I force myself to meet her eyes. 

The old man.. he's Danny's grandfather. _Oh, God. The guilt._

Memories come flooding back to me. The darkness after Shelly's death. The man that I've become. 

I'm on the table. Its time. 

"I'm sorry," I whisper to Rachel. I'd give anything to take it all back.

The end comes. Its a sharp prick in my arm, a short rush of guilt, of despair, and then.. _nothing_. Just cornflower blue.


	9. Love the Ones You've Got

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie battles with her feelings about the impending execution of General Monroe.

_**CHARLIE** _

If you'd asked me a year ago what I thought I'd be doing at Monroe's execution, I probably would have said laughing. Or dancing over the freshly turned earth that was to be his grave. Crying? No. But here I am,  slumped at a table in the bar, near Miles, feeling a real sense of loss. He's feeling it worse, of course; for all his talk I realised some time ago that he would never be able to pull the trigger on Monroe. They're like brothers. In fact, Monroe's last words to me were to look after Miles. I guess that's why I'm here. I feel a deep chill inside when I think of Monroe, shackled and subdued, shuffling to his execution. He looked broken. Devastated. He seemed.. sorry.

I surreptitiously wipe away a tear, but I don't really need to bother with disguising my emotions. Miles is lost to the world, perhaps even to himself, drowning in the bottom of his tumbler and the depth of his own regrets.

Is it just that I wasn't prepared? Because I wasn't. Seeing him when they rolled him into town, caged up like that.. It shocked me to the core. It just didn't seem right. He's..  _What is he?_ _He's like a bird. Not a songbird. More like a bird of prey. An eagle, soaring through the skies, slicing through his enemies, piercing into your soul with the intensity of his gaze. And there's a fragility there too, somehow. The knowledge that a single gust of wind can completely change the intended trajectory. That he could end up somewhere he never meant to be. Like a cage, trapped behind bars at the whim of his foes_.

 _Wow,_ _Charlie_ ,  I think sarcastically to myself _. Deep._

Death has a habit of doing that to me though. Makes me pensive. Reminds me of the fragility of our lives. That everyone always leaves. Even the ones I think I can't get rid of.

...

The shit really hit the fan once we saw him in that cage. We stood there for the presidential speech as it would probably have been dangerous not to. Listening to the Texan President crow with self-satisfaction about their daring joint exercise to capture the fearsome General made me feel impotent. And weirdly, pity. For Monroe. They could strut about and boast of their bravery all they wanted. When in reality they had just snuck up on a single, solitary man, too distracted by his own demons to present any real challenge to them. Oh yes, so brave. I stood stoically while the crowd applauded, not wanting to heap any praise upon these duplicitous bastards.

And I could feel his icy blue eyes on me. I knew he was watching me. The pity I felt for him welled up and made me want to show him some support and so I just stood there,  while they boasted. It was the best I could do.

Once their whole ridiculous show was over and Monroe was locked up, I took one look at Miles and knew he had one thing on his mind. Jailbreak. I nodded at him and we took a casual stroll down the street to check out the situation. I could tell straight away that this wasn't going to be easy. The look on Miles' face said he thought the same thing. "I count.. ten, maybe twelve guards out front," he muttered to me. "Five or six in back."

"It's too many," I said. "Sure about this?"

Miles frowned. "Now that Texas is dry humping the Patriots, no way we can win without him. We gotta get him out."

...

We tossed around a few ideas, and kept an eye on the place. Things took a turn for the worse when they marched him outside and we realised they were moving him to the bank. One way in or out, heavily guarded; we were screwed. And once we realised that Rachael, my damn mother, was the reason for the move? That she tipped the bastards off? God. I was just fuming. FUMING. 

We confronted her and as usual, she was totally convinced she had done the right thing. Regardless of the consequences. Once Miles had said his piece, and vacated the room, she turned to me, and said, "If they would have caught you, they would have put a bullet in your head. I am not losing another child to that man."

_Seriously? I left, months ago, and I return with Monroe of all people, and not once does she really try to find out why. How it happened, what went on in those months. What my life has been like. How can she say its her concern for me that has led to her screwing our whole plan?!_

I had to say something. I was already projecting my rage, arms crossed in a defensive position, and I could feel my muscles tightening with anger.  "If you really cared about me, then you would have asked me just once how I've been, this whole time." Her face quivered briefly, but she didn't say anything. I continued, "For one thing, I almost died." I paused, my mind processing the horror of that night in the bar, and the face of my saviour staring down at me. "You know who saved me. Monroe. But you don't want to hear that, do you?" I was getting more and more riled, and I found myself hissing, "That's the thing, you don't listen. Never have. Because you're smarter than everybody else." She was still quiet. I had no idea what was going through her head but there was no stopping me regardless. "And you're always right. Even when you're dead wrong."

What more could I say? I stared her down, and then turned and stalked out of the room. 

...

I wasn't there for the ruling, when they handed down the death penalty, but the news spread through town like wildfire. When I heard, my heart clenched suddenly, and there was only one thought in my head.  _One more person leaving me._ I had grown used to him. I'd even kind of grown to respect him. At least he treated me more like an adult than my mother did. Didn't patronise me. And he'd saved my life; in the Tower, and in that bar, that god-awful bar. Saved my sanity at the very least. The voice in my head suddenly changed its tone.  _But he killed Dad. And he killed Danny._ I found myself arguing back. _H_ _e didn't. Not really. He wanted Dad alive; it was Neville's men who killed him. And while he certainly wasn't innocent in Danny's death, he wasn't the one manning the helicopter guns. Didn't I have blood on my hands? Hadn't I done things that I wanted to forget? Should I have been stood alongside him in that courtroom, be lying next to him for the lethal injection?  Who was I to judge anything anyone had done?_

I had forgiven Miles for the things he'd done. At some point surely I needed to extend the same courtesy to Monroe, if I was to take the moral high ground. But whether I wanted Monroe in my life or not, I wasn't going to get the choice. He was going to be taken away from me, the same as everybody else. Everybody leaves. 

...

So I found myself near the courthouse door. At least I'd get to say goodbye to him. I was getting good at that. He shuffled his way toward me, haunted in the half light of the lanterns. When he drew near, I found I had nothing to say; I just stared at the broken man before me, and wondered briefly why this hurt so bad. 

He looked at me, with that intense gaze of his, and said "Take care of your uncle, kid," and then continued on inside to receive his final punishment.

Take care of your uncle, kid.  _Take care of your uncle, kid._ I'm suddenly catapulted back through time, to the vaguest of memories. I'm young, can't be more than 4. Uncle Miles has been staying for the holidays. With his friend.  _Uncle Bass._ I see Monroe, standing by his car in his fatigues, blond curls closely cropped, ready to go back to the base; Miles is spending an extra week with us. In my recollection, Monroe is quiet, and while I'm just a kid and I don't know why, I realise he's kind of sad. Miles and I are standing on the garden path, he with his hand on my shoulder, and we're looking at Monroe. "Look, Bass," he says, and Bass nods. Thinking back now, I guess they didn't need words.

"Take care of your uncle, kid," he says to me, and then climbs into the car and backs out of the driveway onto the road and accelerates away, not looking back at us. 

This is the first time I've realised that I knew Monroe before all of this. It literally shakes me to my core.

...

As the bell tolls, I realise it could be tolling for me. As everyone leaves me, I am becoming more and more lost.

....

So, here Miles and I sit. I had made my way to the bar when it was over, knowing that's where I'd find him. "Hi," I whispered. He said nothing, as if he was incapable of words. I laid my hand on his shoulder, just to let him know that I was here, I'd be here, that I didn't want to leave him. He took it, and we stood for a moment; and then the moment was gone. I walked to a nearby table and poured myself a drink. 

I raise my glass in the air. An imaginary toast.  _To Monroe. A cold, empty killer. An unlikely saviour. A tormented man. Another goodbye._ And drain it. And pour myself another.

...

The next morning, when Rachael wakes us from our inebriated slumber after a late night stumble home, and tells us she has something to show us, and takes us to that house, and we see Monroe? The feeling in my chest - just for a moment - is one of unadulterated joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the massive delay, have just been way too busy/tired lately! Sad that Revolution seems to be going in an anti-Charloe direction though so figured this is a good way to pretend otherwise ;)
> 
> Would love any further comments and/or criticisms. Thanks for all the kudos thus far :)


	10. Waking from a Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bass wakes up.. still under the influence of enough barbiturates to drop a horse.

_**BASS** _

_Me and Miles are building a fort. It's gonna be the best damn fort in the whole of Jasper. We've been out here all afternoon making this fort out of all kinds of stuff. Miles found a big pile of scrap metal in the woods that we dragged to our secret place, and there's some logs from our woodpile, and I even stole the old tarp off the BBQ. Its going to be so great. Miles looks over at me, from where he's hammering a couple of old planks together, using tools he stole from his Dad's garage, and grins. "Come on Bass, hurry up!" he says. "I want to have it up tonight."_

_I wish I could sleep out here. The new baby is so annoying, always crying, and I wish she could stay somewhere else. But Mom says she's here to stay, so I'm just gonna hang out at this fort. With Miles. Its gonna be the best summer ever._

_We keep working and get it all finished, and crawl inside. Miles stole a bottle of Coke from his Dad's fridge as well, and we cheers each other loudly, banging together tin mugs. We've got comics, and torches, and potato chips; we're all set to stay out for the night._

_I didn't realise it would be this cold though. Its midnight and Miles' teeth are chattering. I know I'm being selfish. "Come on Miles, lets go home." Miles frowns. "No way, we're staying out all night!" He's just saying that, cos he's my friend and he knows I don't want to go home. "Nah, I'm cold," I say, and crawl out of the fort, reaching my hand in to him. He reluctantly grabs it and I pull him out of there, and we run home, legs pumping, warming ourselves up in the process._

_Miles'  and my Dads are out on our porch. They're real mad; we get sent to bed. As soon as I'm up in my room, I run to the window and grab my torch and flash "OK" in Morse code across at Miles' window. Within a few seconds, he flashes "OK" back. I'm relieved, I was worried his Dad would be really mad and he'd get in real trouble._

_Turns out its me that gets in real trouble though. They send me away to my Grandma's for a few weeks. She's old and boring and mean. I don't want to be here. I want to be with my buddy Miles. Hanging out in our fort._

"Bass."

_When my grandma drives me home, Miles is waiting for me at the end of his driveway. I see him there, scrawny, brown hair, freckles, leaning anxiously on his old beat-up red bike,  just waiting for me. Like I told my Mom, I don't need a new baby sister. I have a brother._

"Bass. Hey."

I blink, slowly, still with the memory of that scrawny anxious looking kid behind my eyelids. 

"Look at me." Miles swims into focus. Angry, grumpy grown-up Miles, with that exact same look of anxiety. "Hey buddy," I rasp. _As the car pulls to a stop I leap out and race over to my best friend. He grins at me with relief and raises his hand for a high five. "Hey buddy," I say with excitement._

"How much did you give him?" Is that Charlie? She looks beautiful. Like a beautiful angel. Why is she here? Where am I?

"Enough barbiturates to drop a horse. Make him look dead." That's Rachel. She doesn't like me. Charlie does though. Maybe. She is looking at me, all concerned. What's wrong? My brain's fuzzy.

"How you feeling?" Miles questions. I focus back on his face, my brother's face. Underneath that anxiety is that same relief, I can see it. He's all brusque as always though, but I can see it. He continues, "can you walk?" 

I can't help but smile, although it feels like my face isn't really working like it should be. "Look at you. You're happy to see me."

He frowns as if he doesn't know what I mean. "What?"

"You missed me," I remind him, and grin wider. Everything's coming back into focus now, but I'm still fuzzy. He needs to know though. "You're my best friend."

He rolls his eyes and turns away - "Okay.. that's enough" -  but Charlie smiles, and that makes me feel warm inside. I feel like I'm with my family.  _My family._ I suddenly remember. 

"Miles. You have to tell me." I rasp out.

"What?"

"You have to tell me where my son is."

He looks at me, and there's all those things in his eyes. Anxiety, relief - and pity. "One thing at a time." He turns to Rachael. "How long until he's 100%?"

"A couple days," she says quietly. 

Charlie breaks her gaze at me - such pretty eyes - to look at Rachael, and asks abruptly, "Why'd you do it?"

Why did she do it? She doesn't like me. 

"'Because we needed him." I feel that clench in my chest. Needed isn't the same as wanted.

Then she speaks again. "And you asked me to." They're both looking at Charlie now too. And I'm looking at her, feeling that warmth inside again. Rachael doesn't like me. But maybe Charlie does. I'm too tired to comment or react, but I fall back asleep with the image of Charlie smiling in my mind. 


	11. To Err is Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While on the search for Aaron, Charlie makes a surprising realisation or two.

_**CHARLIE** _

God its been a rough couple days. Scratch that – weeks. Aw hell, lets face it, its been a rough couple years. But seriously, the last few days have just tired me right out.

Monroe’s execution and subsequent resurrection were pretty overwhelming. I never expected the man to invoke such feelings in me. Not that I have time for feelings at the moment. But I’ve come to realise that in my own way, I care about him. And somehow along the way, I’ve gotten past my hatred of him. I’ve stopped blaming him for the deaths of my family and friends. He’s still a royal pain in my ass, no question, but so much has happened since Dad and Danny died, and I’ve come to realise that we’re all guilty of things that we shouldn’t have done. And while he was on the wrong side for a long time, maybe it was for the right reasons. And he’s on our side now.

Long story short? I’m glad he’s still around, as weird as that is. I’ve got used to having him at my back, and I know I can trust him with my life, which is a good thing to have around these days. Plus the snarky conversations between he and Miles makes me laugh sometimes. They’re such idiots. And it does seem like Miles is happy that Monroe wasn’t executed, not that he’d ever admit it.

Speaking of things never to be admitted… I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything cuter than doped up Monroe. I had the strangest urge to hug him when he called Miles his BFF, stroke those damp blond curls. I held off, of course… Miles and Mom were already giving me the weirdest look.  But yeah, I’m not admitting to anyone that I find Monroe good-looking.

Right now I’m a little pissed at him though. He was supposed to take care of Aaron and Cynthia, after Grandpa admitted that he’d sold us out and warned us that we needed to get the two of them out of town. Yet apparently something went wrong with that plan, as the Patriots managed to get hold of them regardless. So here we are, trying to find them, although it does seem like they might have escaped – more of Aaron’s crazy powers, it seems. Everything is a mess. Grandpa’s still in captivity, Aaron and Cynthia are missing, and Monroe is nowhere to be found.

It doesn’t matter that I’m tired. So tired. Right now we have to find Aaron and Cynthia. I’m thoroughly creeped out after finding the Patriot building empty – apart from a large number of unconscious Patriots. Once I find his bootprint, we follow his trail out through a tunnel into the woods surrounding the town. Which are now wreathed in a strange mist, very unseasonal for Texas.

It doesn’t take me long to pick up the trail once we’re outside. Of course we’d find him faster if it wasn’t for Miles being even more snarky than usual, and Rachael being even more vacant than usual. Seriously. I thought I was supposed to be the kid around here. Turns out Rachael is planning to go find Grandpa – and I’m all for that – but Miles makes the point that we gotta find Aaron first. God knows what those creepy Patriot weirdos have got planned, and once we see them searching for him, as Miles points out, “we don’t have a choice.”

Cut to an hour later and I’m struggling. “Dammit. I lost the trail.” I whisper to the others.

“Alright, well, find it.” Miles says impatiently. Oh, delightful. I do so love Miles’ snark-heavy days. And today is right up there. “Yeah. You know what Miles? If you can do a better job, please, go for it.”

We’re suddenly distracting from our sniping from the sound of breaking branches up ahead. We freeze in our tracks but the Patriots are nearly upon us. I figure I better take advantage of the few seconds we’ve got; I swiftly pull out my knife and throw it at the closest soldier. The blade buries itself in his shoulder. I don’t even have time to wonder how I beat Miles to it. We rush the three men and subdue them, but unfortunately Mom can’t get hold of her guy’s gun before he has time to squeeze the trigger, and the sound of the gunshot fills the air. So much for being stealth. Miles makes quick work of him with a sword to the back, but already we can hear more soldiers nearby, urgently shouting in response to the noise. This isn’t good. We make a run for it but then these three stooges are right there in front of us, guns trained on us, fingers on the triggers. “Freeze!”

_Dammit. This is just not my day._

But then. Through the mist, like some ethereal samurai or something, comes sleekly flying swords. Monroe comes hurtling out of the mist, his swords slashing the throat of first one, then the second, and all three are down before I have time to even breathe.

 _Damn._ I can’t lie. He is the sexiest angel of death I have ever seen. I exhale sharply, a jolt of lust clenching my stomach. _Damn._ Either I really need to get laid, or I have the hots for Monroe.

Hmm.. it’s probably both.

He looks at the three of us basically standing there mute with shock, and quips, “I’m Batman” – the smartass – before ushering us deeper into the woods before the rest of the Patriots catch up with us. Right now, I’d follow him anywhere.

 ...

As soon as we find relative safety in a cellar nearby, Miles and Monroe get right to furious whispered arguing. Mom and I are in the other room but I can hear the conversation just fine. Monroe wants to sell us all out, leave us all behind, so he can find his son.  I should have known we couldn’t trust him. I’d been building up to believe that he’d changed; that he wanted absolution and he was going to be there for us, and the moment where he burst out of the mist to save us all – that really had me believing. But apparently he’d be happy to ditch us in a heartbeat if Miles let on to the location of his son.

I can’t help but shoot him a look of disappointment when he turns around to glance at us. I don’t know if it registers. He and Miles move away though and their heated discussion becomes too soft to hear. At least most of it does. At one point I’m pretty sure Monroe says Miles is like a puppy holding a kitten. I bite back a giggle.

God knows what Miles says but in the end, Monroe seems onboard with finding Aaron, however begrudgingly. “Well, what are we waiting for,” he intoned as he and Miles came to join us. “Let’s go find Staypuft.”

...

It didn’t take us long to follow the Patriot tracks to the old high school a couple kilometres through the woods. We incapacitated the few soldiers we came across, and found ourselves at a junction in an old hallway. “Split up,” Miles barked, and he and Rachel took one branch. Great, guess I’m with the guy who’ll ditch at the first opportunity, I think wryly to myself as I take the other branch. I can hear his footsteps behind me. We do work well together, its true.

We quickly settle into a smooth pattern of checking doors and covering each other. I’m whispering, “Aaron,” as quietly as I can as Monroe steps gracefully around me, gun at the ready. We’re distracted by the sound of a door opening at the far end of the hall. I look to Monroe for direction and his eyes meet mine briefly before he takes cover behind the wall. I slip into the room on the other side of the hallway, just before the soldiers catch sight of me. I look over to see Monroe looking anxious, and it is only then that I realise that I’ve hidden myself in a trap whereas Monroe has a clear exit route. _Great._

His ice-blue eyes meet mine, and I force myself to hold his stare, praying he won’t see the doorway opposite. It’s like his stare penetrates my thoughts however and he reads my mind; his head turns slowly to look directly at the Exit sign. He glances back at me, as if to say, “Sorry, kid,” a rueful dip of his head in apology. I stare absolute daggers at him – I can’t _believe_ he’s doing this – but my vehemence does nothing; he moves swiftly to the exit and moves soundlessly out of sight. Thankfully I spot the large lockers in the room I’m in and manage to slip into one of them and pull the door just to before one of the Patriot soldiers pokes his head in to check the room out. I hold my breath and hope he can’t hear my heart pounding mercilessly in my chest.  

...

I’ve been in this locker for at least ten minutes now. How long should I stay in here? The corridor went silent some time ago, but I’ve remained completely still in case. I’m going crazy with the repetitive thought going through my mind – _of course he left.. of course he left_ – and I’m very aware of the fact that we need to find Aaron and Cynthia. I wait another full minute, ears pricked for any sound at all, and then swallow, breathe deeply, and ease the door open, stepping cautiously out into the corridor.

Instantly, I know it’s a mistake. I feel the movement of the soldier to my right, but have no chance to react, he grabs me and throws me at the wall, hand around my throat, gun in my face. He’s smirking, all proud of himself. What a dick. Still, this isn’t a good situation. Even if I could take this guy, there’s another guard standing next to him. Both of them have guns. For the second time that day, all I can think is... _dammit._

And then. For the second time that day, Bass Monroe surprises me by turning up in the nick of time to save my life. He’s a graceful murderous blur, slashing the throat of the man to my right. The pompous tool with his gun in my face is distracted just long enough for me to draw my knife and stab convincingly up into his sternum. He’s dead before he hits the floor.

I squat down to grab the asshole’s gun and as I stand back up I find myself face to face with the man who only seconds before had me convinced that he had left me to die. But here he is. Our eyes lock and – there’s that gut clench again – I find myself saying, “You came back.” Because he did. Here he is. And no-one ever comes back for me.

He stares at me, his contrite expression seeming to beg my forgiveness. Can I forgive him? In that exact moment I realise I already have, and I don’t even know when I did. He is no longer the monstrous General Monroe. He is Bass, the broken man in front of me who has now saved my life four times, and whose wrongdoings are reflected in my own crimes, albeit it probably on a smaller scale. I’ve just killed the man in front of me. And he killed the man in front of him.. for me.

This moment hangs in the air for just a fraction and for a lifetime. It ends as sharply as it began, with the sound of more Patriots at the end of the hall. I snap around to see soldiers walking into the hallway; Monroe whispers, “Go, go!” at me urgently but its too late – they’ve already seen us.

We sprinting away from them, cradling the guns we’ve taken from the dead men on the floor. Monroe directs me into the gymnasium and we fly across the floor, throwing ourselves behind a pile of rubble. As cover goes, it’s not perfect, but it will do. As the soldiers hurtle into the room after us, Monroe lets loose with a volley of bullets as I duck down. We take turns firing but this is not a long term solution, no matter how well we’re working together to take down the opposition. There’s just too many of them. We both drop down. We need to find a way out of this.

That’s when they catch fire. All of them. Monroe and I can only watch, in pure horror, as the entire opposition burns to death in front of our eyes. _Oh dear God._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much more to go now, I think just two more chapters. It'll essentially be canon until the final chapter, and then it will be what should have been canon ;) Probably will get Chapter 12 up tomorrow night but no promises on the final one.. I want to get it right! Comments gratefully received.. would love to know if you think I'm capturing the mindset of the characters accurately.


	12. On a Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bass realises he's not just looking for his son; that he's looking for something else as well.

_**BASS** _

There’s some smoke rising from the charred bodies, but the flames have finally dissipated. I look over at Charlie; she’s staring at the corpses with a look of awed horror. “Staypuft must be somewhere around. Guess he can be handy sometimes,” I comment. She glares at me in that way of hers. The look that makes me feel half chastised and half amused, has me inclined to keep trying to push her buttons. What can I say, I’ve always liked them feisty. In this case though I think its better we get moving to find Miles. Idiot wasn’t looking good last time I saw him and Rachel isn’t that much use in a fight.

I grab my gun and motion to Charlie to follow. She has the technique down and is almost as stealthy as Miles these days; there are definitely worse buddies for combat. We check each door as we make our way down the hallway, but there’s stillness that to me suggests our attackers weren’t the only ones burned to a crisp. Well, it’s the stillness as well the peculiar acrid smell which I’m starting to get used to. _Hmm, Staypuft is becoming more deadly than me_. I underline my mental note to try not to piss him off.

It’s not long before we fine the charred remains of a Patriot in front of a door that seems to be blocked off. There’s Miles, unconscious, and Rachel tending to him in a controlled panic. “Can you find Aaron? We need to get Miles to safety,” she asks us. Charlie’s already heading back out the door. I sigh and follow her, knowing they won’t let me take Miles out of there without finding Aaron and his woman first. It seriously feels like I am constantly looking for people I didn’t care about; like I’m stuck in purgatory just waiting until that bastard Miles will tell me where he had taken my son.

I suppose I probably deserve to be there, in purgatory, if not a little further south. 

When we finally find Aaron, he is almost catatonic. Slumped against a locker, staring at Cynthia’s body, silent tears coursing down his cheeks. She’s a goner, nothing we can do. I ask about Horn but it’s like he can’t hear me.

We get a Patriot wagon and horses lined up pretty quickly and get Cynthia and Miles onto the wagon. Aaron was a bit more work – I sure as hell can’t carry him - but we got him on there too. It was a quick trip back.

Once we are secured back in that hidden cellar, Rachel sets about doing what she can to make Miles comfortable but its become pretty obvious that we need Gene to get him any better. That hand is looking really gross. Watching her try to fix something that as usual she can’t fix just gets me frustrated and I have to get out of there – I bail out of the cellar and just go for a wander in the woods. Take out my frustration on some dead trees, figure we could at least get a fire going, boil some water, sterilise the wound or something?  Christ I miss antibiotics.

Charlie finds me without difficulty. I’m half expecting it. She’s been pretty quiet since everything went down at the school. I’d caught her looking at me a couple times, but she’d acted like she hadn’t been. I figure I know what she is grappling with – squaring this idea she has of me as a monster with the me who has saved her life. Twice in one day, in fact. And it must be what.. four times all up?

Hmm. It’s starting to become a habit for me. I had the perfect chance to get out of there at the school. Bail. Leave them to it. I’m making my way down the stairs toward the exit thinking - _this war against the Patriots, its all well and good, but I want to find my son_. Of course I need Miles for that. And if I leave Charlie to die.. dammit. I turned around and went back up, found her in a tricky situation, and got her out of it, that was all. That makes it sound like it I did it just for Miles though. Thinking about it now? I don’t know that it was. Not anymore. Honestly, it feels good every time I save her. Like every time, I’m making some ground on this vendetta that she has against me. Like some day she can forgive me. I don’t know exactly why it matters to me that she does forgive me, but it does.

Yes I do. I know why it matters. And it scares the crap out of me. All I’m willing to admit to myself right now though is that I can’t lose her. And that’s probably enough. And definitely too much.

I can’t help but have a little hope though, that maybe I haven’t gone completely crazy. That look she gave me after I came out of the mist and got rid of those Patriots.. well that was something very unexpected. If Miles and Rachael hadn’t been standing there – and we hadn’t been in imminent life or death danger – I’m not sure what I would have done. Nothing PG13, that’s for sure. I catch myself smiling at the thought and then realise she’s staring at me curiously.  I look at her coolly. Can’t have her knowing she’s gotten under my skin. Even though she well and truly has. “What?” I demand.

“You know what,” she says. Oh, she is hard as nails, this one. “We need to get Grandpa. Miles needs his help. And you don’t want Miles to die right?” She knows exactly how to get to me. Of course I don’t want Miles to die; I never did. And its not just that he knows where my son – _my son_ – is. Its that he’s my brother. And I don’t want him to die from a shitty infection that less than two decades ago would have been an easy fix. What a joke. I still didn’t really know why people were so against getting the power back on. Except for those bombs. Goddamn Patriots. I smashed another branch against a tree stump to break it and looked up and her, right at those accusing blue eyes of hers. “Of course not,” I gritted out. “What you got in mind?”

...

In the end it turns out to be pretty simple. We’ve worked out where they must be holding him as it’s the only place with any kind of defence left. Even that’s pretty weak. Seems like Aaron really decimated their numbers.. which has totally fried their advantage. Get it? Heh. Anyway, I do a perimeter sweep, Charlotte takes out the two guys at the front with a couple of well placed arrows, and boom, here I am unlocking Gene’s cell with some keys I took off an unfortunate individual I met a couple of corridors ago. He looks terrified as I open the door, and then absolutely astounded to see me standing there. There’s no time for explanations though, god knows when the backup is arriving, all I know is its definitely coming. “On your feet Gramps. We gotta go. Come on,” I tell him, striding over to help him up. “Up.” He’s still looking at me like I’m Elvis Presley or something. “Yeah, yeah, I’m alive. Go. Come on,” I say tiredly, and propel him forward outta the room. She’s there, waiting for us. Gramps breathes, “Charlie,” but there’s no time for family reunions, not yet. We gotta get out of here.

Thankfully we don’t have any trouble upon exit, although Gramps seems a little horrified to see the bodies of the guards at the front door, arrows still in their chests. She has changed, and not in a good way. A dark part of me likes it though, likes the transformation. Maybe it’s that I never really knew her before, but deep down I know it’s because there’s a chance she can forgive me now she’s more like me. And her forgiveness is something I keep finding myself craving. I almost asked her point blank for her forgiveness, back in the school, in that second before the Patriots starting burning. I felt like it might actually be the end, but if she could forgive me, that it would be okay.

Glad I didn’t now though. Since everything’s worked out. No reason to make things fucking uncomfortable for everyone.   

As we get to the cellar and I’m opening up the doors, Gramps speaks up. “I don’t get it, why are you helping me?” he asks.

I look squarely at him. “It’s not for you,” I say honestly, and while Miles is the second face to flash through my mind at that statement, the first is Charlie’s. I want the doc to sort Miles out, sure.

But I need her to forgive me.


End file.
